


Whisper (in my bones)

by BloodInTheFields



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodInTheFields/pseuds/BloodInTheFields
Summary: There, in golden letters, reads her name.Her date of birth. Her date of death.Latin words David can’t understand.It’s beautiful. Sober. Solemn.David hates all of it.





	Whisper (in my bones)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to become a story, but life got in the way and it's now been a month since I wrote this and I have no real desire to continue it, so here's a one-shot! I hope you'll like it.

Therapy works, for the most part. It’s good enough that he doesn’t completely lose his kids and Vicky. Good enough that he’s back on duty after a few sessions per month. His therapist advises to stick to a regular schedule, so he does.

Eat. Work. Sleep. Eat. Work. Sleep. See the kids. See Vick. Eat. Work. Sleep.

Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

And then it’s been a year.

Her face is back on TV, in newspapers, in magazines.

Everywhere.

There’s no escaping it. No escaping her.

All his hard work, undone.

David thinks he’s going mad.

__

He sees her in his dreams. That started before the bomb that took her, but it never stopped. He’s mentioned it in therapy but was told it’s quite normal, that it would fade with time.

It doesn’t.

A year later and she’s still there, in every corner of his mind. Despite Vicky, despite the kids, despite the job.

The publicity around the anniversary of her death only makes it worse.

David does something he’s never done before: he takes a day off. Asks for it. Of course it’s granted to him. People in the workplace, colleagues… They know. They remember. Most of them will attend a ceremony in loving memory of PC Kim Knowles. Not David. He’s not one for this kind of things. He’s buried too many comrades. Brothers-in-arms.

David just wants a drink, or ten.

He goes to a bar he’s never been before. The TV’s on. One glance at it, and there she is, one of her interviews about RIPA-18, shortly before the attack. David’s thankful the TV is on mute. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle hearing it again. Her voice. He hasn’t watched any of her televised appearances since… well.

In the end, simply seeing her face proves too much and David leaves, one pint in, throat dry, and a furious envy to punch a wall.

It’s not even noon yet.

__

Vicky humours him and agrees to lunch. She, too, knows very well what day it is. There’s pity in her eyes but not the kind that would make David’s blood boil. She understands him, what he’s been through. They’ve been talking. After the bomb strapped to his chest, after his apology to her… They’re on good terms now. It’s different. No longer puppy love, no longer heartbroken longing on his part. It’s more adult, more grounded. They’re friends, David thinks. Good for Ella and Charlie, good for them.

She does most of the talking. Mentions a few blokes that caused some ruckus at work. David listens dutifully; nods at the right times, feigns indignation. Truth is, he can’t bring himself to care about any of it. But Vick’s here and she’s kind and so he tries.

They part after lunch, with a kiss on the cheek and a half-smile. David walks away, feels Vicky’s uncertain, worried eyes on him until he’s out of her sight.

__

Buying booze in a supermarket is the immediate plan. He goes to his usual, the one near his apartment. The cashier says hello, asks how he’s doing, ignores David’s silence and announces the total. Mechanically, David hands him the crisp 20-pounds note he fishes from his jeans pocket, and waits for his change. The cashier’s goodbye gets lost in the sound of the automatic sliding door.

__

Five beers in and David gives in. He grabs his laptop and enters her name in the search bar. Pictures of her, everywhere. He remembers her eyes the most. How they used to look at him. Amused, annoyed, calculating, wondering, full of desire and want.

He stares, and stares, until his vision starts to blur and he has to close the laptop.

Beer number six meets its end.

__

Somehow, between beer eight and beer ten, David blacks out. His tolerance for alcohol has plummeted since he’s been attending therapy, going down to three drinks a week, no more. But this is a special day, a special night. David wants to forget. So he drinks, too much.

He ends up at the cemetery. How, he’s not sure. He just prays he took a taxi.

The gates are closed, logically, because of the late hour. But he’s here now, isn’t he, so he finds a way in. He’s never set foot in this place, so he wanders for long minutes between the ranks of tombstones, his eyes barely making out the names engraved on them.

He is brought to a stop when he sees it, in the distance. Instinctively, David knows this is the one. There are so many flower arrangements, on it, in front of it, beside it… Hands balled into fists, drawing shaky breaths in the cold air, David puts one foot in front of the other and keeps walking until he stands right in front of black marble, as close as the flowers allow him.

There, in golden letters, reads her name.

Her date of birth. Her date of death.

Latin words David can’t understand.

It’s beautiful. Sober. Solemn.

David hates all of it.

__

He stands frozen for a long time, reading her name in his head, over and over. He lets the memories wash over him. Their first meeting, first words, first heated exchange. And then the first attempt on her life, the first time he saw fear in her eyes. Their first kiss, first time together, first morning after. David remembers the firsts, and then their lasts. Last kiss, last touch of her hand, last glance in his direction. Right before the explosion, he remembers. The widening of her eyes, raise of her eyebrows as she saw him running towards her, in that moment knowing what it meant, what was going to happen to her… That last look haunts David, day and night.

Finally, he weeps.

Softly, almost shamefully, with a fist pressed against his lips and his eyes never leaving her name on the black marble.

He’s worked hard on letting go of the guilt and apparently he’s done a piss-poor job at it. It’s gnawing at him, always there in the back of his mind, never quite letting him forget that he failed. He failed to do his job, to keep his word.

He failed her.

For that, David thinks he deserves to be haunted for the rest of his days.

__

The walk home is sobering. The harsh cold of early winter bites into his exposed skin but he relishes in it. He’s always liked the cold better. Lost in thoughts, David gets back to his place and sighs when he sees the empty bottles of beer he’s left behind. They will have to wait until morning. He feels drained of all energy. A hot shower and a warm bed are the only things that appeal to him at the moment.

A while later, as he slides into bed and finally closes his eyes, the smell of his freshly-washed sheets fills his nostrils. Lavender, he realizes. He doesn’t even remember buying that washing liquid. The smell is both comforting and torturous. With her on his mind again, David thinks there’s no way sleep will claim him tonight. He buries his face in a pillow and waits, waits for the morning light to come in through the blinds, waits for yet another day without her to begin.

__

Sleep, eat, work, eat, sleep.

The routine continues. Life goes back to normal. People forget about their former Home Secretary again. Vicky notices his relapse; he can tell. But she keeps quiet, keeps looking at him with compassion and understanding. Bless her. He doesn’t go back to drinking, so there’s that. But he sleeps less, talks less, smiles less. It shows. Not in front of the kids though, never in front of them. David’s made that promise to himself.

__

It’s another boring Tuesday when David’s routine is blown up. Literally. The place in the city centre he usually goes to for lunch goes up in flames and there’s an explosion that shatters all the windows around. Gas leak, he learns later. The owner and three customers, all dead. Given the location of the restaurant and the hour, it’s a miracle there aren’t more victims. The explosion is all over the news for two days, and then it’s gone. The world has moved on to another tragedy already. David doesn’t particularly miss the food. It was basic, at best.

Still, it means he has to look for another restaurant in the area. It takes him about a week to find one he likes. It’s a bit farther, not quite in the city centre, but it’s small, cosy, and David could swear the food is better than in the vast majority of prestigious and fancy restaurants in London. It’s also open until late in the evening, which he appreciates since he sometimes has to work well past dinner time.

He takes the kids there after a few weeks. To them, it’s nothing special, just another outing with Daddy. He watches them eat with an affectionate smile. The thought of what he almost did to himself—to them—regularly makes its way back to the forefront of his mind. He could have missed all of that. He could have destroyed their childhood. And while he understands that his desperate act was the result of trauma and grief and anger, and in the end, nothing to be ashamed of, David still feels profound guilt and remorse. But being with them, watching them laugh and bicker and play… it dulls the pain a little. Makes him think everything will be all right. The future looks bright; he just has to learn to stop looking over his shoulder.


End file.
